The Billionaire Boss Next Door

I don’t even have to think about my answer.

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“So, another apartment?”

“Nope,” he responds way too quickly. “At least not another apartment rented from Emory’s family. This is probably it, dude. When you signed your lease, there were only two apartments available. The one you moved in to and the one next door to yours. This is the kind of building that locals would practically sell a limb to live in. It’s rare for spots to become available. Not to mention, the whole reason you wanted it was because of its prime location to the hotel.”

Everything he says is right. I rented this apartment for a reason. And I don’t have any damn time to go searching for a new place. Not with the NOLA project demanding all of my time and energy. Losing even one day could end in delays I can’t afford.

“Great,” I grumble, smashing a piece of my chocolate croissant in between two fingers.

I stare out toward the road, my mind racing with all sorts of irrational thoughts. But when I see a Prius with an Uber sticker in the back window pull up to the curb, I throw some money on the table and pick up what’s left of my newspaper.

“I’ve got to go,” I say to Quince. “My car’s here.”

“Okay, dear. Have a good day at work. Kisses.”

“Blow me,” I say in return.

He’s still laughing when I hang up the call and cruise across the sidewalk.

I’ve got a hand on the door handle of the black car when a different hand, one with red fingernails and owned by the devil, smacks the back of it away.

“Whoops. Sorry, neighbor. This Uber’s mine.”

And there, as if I channeled her evil spirit, is Greer Hudson, smirking so hard one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifts.

“Excuse me?”

She clears her throat and nods to the driver. “Check your information, dear. You’ll have to wait for the next eco-friendly hatchback.”

She shoves me out of the way, pops the door open, and jumps inside.

And I’m left with the confirmation that she’s right as I open the app and compare the license plate as it putters away.

When you’re unwilling to share your Uber with your new boss on your first day of work, you’re either asking for trouble or you have a few screws loose.

And, I swear to God, when it comes to Greer Hudson, it’s both.

Fine. If this insane woman wants trouble, I am more than willing to oblige.

Greer

It’s been a whirlwind of a morning, and it’s only nine a.m.

I left my boss stranded on the sidewalk to wait for his own Uber, even though we were coming to the same place.

God, why can’t I stop doing things like this!

It’s like I’m trying to poke the billionaire beast.

And ever since then, he’s shown his disdain for me—his new neighbor and employee—through his annoyed glares, heavy sighs, and overall grumpy demeanor.

But yet he’s still managed to run a tight ship. I’m talking spandex-pants-stuck-straight-up-your-ass kind of tight ship.

One hour into our first official work day and we’ve had our morning meeting, toured the majority of the lobby area and what will be the pool and fitness center, and spoken to at least seven subcontractors working on the property.

After all that, there are two things I know without a doubt. The hotel is going to be gorgeous—God and Trent Tucker willing, that is. And my boss is an absolute natural…at being a prick.

“Jesus Christ,” Trent says, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation. “It’s like every time I come here, we have to start over. Is Sergio here? His guys?”

Obviously, the second point proves itself more and more every minute.

“I don’t think he’s scheduled to be here until tomorrow, Mr. Turner,” the lead contractor, George, responds.

“Does anyone other than me realize what kind of a schedule we’re on here? We have nine months—nine—until opening day, and we’re still roughing things in.”

“I’ll try to get him on the phone—” George responds in an attempt to soothe the raging beast.

“No. I’ll call him myself. Give me the number,” Trent demands impatiently.

George’s hands shake as he scrolls through his phone and rattles off the numbers.

Trent dials as he speaks, and then he glances to the rest of us in the room before hitting send.

“Busy yourselves. I know for a fact each and every one of you has something important to be doing.”

Wow. And I thought I made a bad first impression.

Skeptically sour faces litter the room as Trent steps outside to make his phone call, and if I didn’t know how aggravating the man was, I actually might feel bad about how deep his hole is getting with these people.

Doesn’t he know the phrase Kill ’em with kindness?

I decide distraction is the best way to handle the awkward vibe in the room and step up to the plate to take charge. “Hey, Sarah,” I call to the assistant of the general contractor. “Did you say lighting was already laid out, or did decisions still need to be made?”